


Climb

by TintinnabulousRunes



Series: Panem Forever [6]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, POV Alternating, POV First Person, The Rebellion Failed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintinnabulousRunes/pseuds/TintinnabulousRunes
Summary: Jason Argos is the cousin of Panem's most recent Victor. Surely that must count for something in his favor as he volunteers for the 88th Hunger Games.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for Pewter Owl: The 87th Hunger Games and for Bay Laurel.

**Day 10**

**Jason Argos**  
**District 4, Male Tribute**

The Cornucopia has been thoroughly picked over by this point. What supplies we haven't used have been stolen by other tributes or those damn raccoon mutts. Having mutts steal supplies is a new tactic by the Gamemakers. Given how wet everything is I'd have expected a flood to have washed away supplies if they decided to intervene.

We have reached the final eight. There are only two tributes left not in the pack, the girl from District 9 and the boy from District 6. It's around time for the pack to start splitting up. The question is if and when we're having a melee. Wonder has been exchanging glances with Citrine all morning. They're planning something.

Susan sits down next to me. She makes a point of sharpening her sword, running the whetstone over the blade with a metallic rasp. 

"So, next to no supplies left here and we're at the final eight." She puts voice to what we're all thinking. "What are we going to do about that?"

No one says anything. Fidelis walks closer from where he had been standing near the opening of the Cornucopia. Agnes is not in sight. Must be on the other side. She said she was going to look for any signs of our thieving tribute.

Fidelis folds his arms across his chest. "We split."

A squelching noise catches my attention. I can feel someone behind me. Agnes. My hand goes to my knife.

There's a wet, crunching noise. I turn in time with the cannon shot that rings out to see an axe buried deep in Susan's skull. There is a tiny part of me, deep in the back of my mind, that is offended that she was perceived as the larger threat and taken out like this. But I'm alive.

On my feet, spear in hand. Wonder charges at me. Left himself wide open.

I aim for his shoulder. He is quicker than I expected and twists out of the way. I still graze his arm. I pivot, trying to get a glimpse of my other potential opponents. Fidelis still stands, arms crossed. He's not getting involved. Agnes is prying her axe out of Susan's skull. Citrine is running.

Wonder has gotten too close for another stab. I hit his leg with the butt of my spear and follow up with an elbow aimed at his pretty face. I catch his chin. He reels back and I take the opportunity to grab my pack. No one has a ranged weapon. I can get out of this. Trying to outrun Hyacinth in training taught me a thing or two about chases.

Wonder recovers and starts to circle me. 

Fidelis and Agnes block the easy exits. Keep moving Wonder. I start circling him as well, keeping my spear level with his throat.

He tenses. I strike first, aiming for the soft spot under his chin. The head of my spear cuts under his jaw but he moves enough to prevent a mortal blow. He must not have been expecting a shot that high and did not move his head quickly enough. The wound is still serious. We both know this.

He rushes me, forgoing any sense of form or grace. The wild swings are hard to block because there's no reason to them. I'm pinned between Fidelis, Agnes, and Susan's body, which makes backing up next to impossible.

I keep my spear between us as best I can and draw my knife. This motion puts my guard down long enough for Wonder to land a cut across my left arm. I stab him in the gut for his troubles. I let go of the knife, leaving it in him for now.

He stumbles back and gets into spear range. His head is bowed, looking down at the knife. The hollow of his throat is still exposed. That's where I drive my spear into his flesh. He goes down with a wet gurgle. I pull my spear back out, take a step forward, twist the knife in his gut, pull it out, and run for my life.

Wonder's cannon fires. Citrine had gone vaguely westward. I pick north.

Damn, I should have taken his sword. There'd only been three swords in the Cornucopia this year; Wonder took one, Susan took the other, and the last was a two handed sword that only Fidelis or maybe the boy from District 7 could have lifted. Fidelis chose to use a pair of machetes instead.

It's too late to go back from it. If I go back, Fidelis and Agnes will kill me. Might be able to win a one on one fight with either of them, but both and I'm dead.

The arena is a maze of old trees, many with branches so large they have curved to rest on the ground for support. Navigating it alone makes everything that much more sinister. The ground is strewn with leaf litter and the soil beneath is mainly a sticky clay that streaks the bottoms of my shoes with a mix of grey and beige. I'm not overly worried about mutts, since there haven't been any other than the large, blood sucking ones like the 'skeeters down in Gulf Port.

Maybe I should be worried about mutts since there haven't been any big ones yet. Well, none that I've seen. Any one of the earlier cannon shots the pack wasn't around for could have been a mutt.

The other careers are the most immediate danger. I know I'm faster than any of them. There are no sounds of pursuit to be heard above my own movement. I climb onto a low tree branch and pause to look behind me. No signs of Fidelis or Agnes. No cannon shot, either. Will they fight or stick together?

I slow to a jog so I don't exhaust myself. I keep moving through the trees, climbing over branches and keeping trunks between me and anything that could be behind me. There is little point in trying to cover up footprints. I was the pack's tracker and the other proved useless at it when we split up at any point.

I trudge ever northward.

* * *

And normally finding water is a problem in arenas. Instead, I'm swimming in it. Well, wading in it, right now.

I prod the bottom of the bayou with the butt of my spear. The water is deep enough an undertow could grab me. As I move, I grab the branches of the trees bowed over the water. They anchor me as I move onward.

The sky darkens. It will be time for the anthem soon.

The sword cut on my arm burns. Wonder put up a good fight. He proved to be more than just a pretty face. In another life, we could have been closer. But he tried to kill me and I did kill him. A pity. 

I must not have wrapped the cut tightly enough so the bandages are rubbing against it. The burning isn't from infection since I got sent some antibiotic pills a few hours back. Lynn said she'd pull the "he's my cousin" card during the final eight interviews to help me get sponsors. She better not have spent any of her Victor's stipend. I told her not to. I'll bet she did anyways out of sheer obstinance.

That tree looks big enough. Still leading the way with the butt of my spear, I head over to a large oak. I can practically step up into the tree, the branches are that low to the water. The knife cut on my leg twinges in pain at the movement upwards. That girl from 3 was quick until Citrine got her in the back with a knife. I'd seen her first so she should have been mine to kill, but apparently I was "dragging it out." Wasn't doing it on purpose, she was just damn quick.

Getting any higher into the tree will be tricky. My spear is in the way and I need both hands free to climb. Stabbing it into a branch would just dull the head, so that won't work.

Even if I just get up another three or four branches, I can reach a nice fork near the trunk I can sleep in. There is a small fork up a ways. And a knot in the tree. It looks like a branch had been cut off at one point with the way the bark has curled inward. That doesn't happen when a branch breaks. That's weird. I scoot along the branch to get a closer look. The inner wood is still pale. It gets darker over time. Maybe it got cut when the arena was being constructed.

I prop my spear up between the fork and the nook created by the cut branch. Stay... And it stays!

First branch up.

The bark scrapes my hands and catches at the torn edges of my clothes. My leg hurts, but it's manageable.

Second branch up.

Leg hurts more. Need to keep moving.

Third branch up.

Not going further up. I lean down and grab my spear. I hang my pack off of a broken end of a branch. Actually broken, not cut like the other. Maybe there's a camera installed nearby. I hang my spear through the straps of the back and both are in easy arm's reach when I lean back against the trunk of the tree.

Blood runs down my leg. The scab must have broken as I climbed. I unwind the bandages and that's a lot of blood. My stomach lurches. Other people's blood, I'm okay-ish. Mine, not so much.

I dig another roll of gauze out of my pack. I wrap my leg tight. It's uncomfortable, but it stops the bleeding. I'll rewrap it in the morning.

Every part of me aches or stings or throbs. I never got my hands on the salve in the Cornucopia that could soothe the scrapes and cuts. It was one of the things stolen by the thieving tribute or raccoon mutts.

I look upwards through the branches of the tree. Maybe a parachute will appear. Surely some of Lynn's sponsors will sponsor me as well. We don't have the same style. She has the compulsive need to plan for everything and back-stabbed anyone who made the mistake of getting close to her. I'm more straightforward and adaptable in the moment. There's never any sense in planning ahead when everything could change without warning.

Still, I'm the cousin of the most recent Victor. That's got to count for something to Capitol citizens.

Alas, no parachute. I reach over to my pack again and take out a packet of dried fruits and nuts. The mix is coated in salt. I try to wipe most of it away. Eating it with the salt is no problem if I have a source of fresh water, but the filter on my canteen has two red dots on the indicator already. Once the third one appears, it's done and I'll have to get a new one. There were no spares in the Cornucopia, so a new one would have to come from a sponsor gift. I could boil water, but that would require starting a fire, and between everything being so wet and not wanting to alert anyone to my location, that won't work.

I eat the nuts and pieces of dried fruit one by one to stretch it. We're now at the final six and the tenth day. We've all split up for now, except Fidelis and Agnes are likely still together, or at least have a truce. The Gamemakers might let us wander for a day or two before calling a feast to get us back together. I can afford to eat the whole packet. I still have a couple of rolls, which are kinda squished but still edible, some jerky, and some more dried fruit and nut mixes.

Water is, funny enough, the biggest concern.

There's a way to dig a hole and use a piece of plastic or plastic-y fabric to collect condensate. The wet ground should make that easier. The lining of the pack might work for that. I could cut out a piece of the lining from one of the side pockets and use that. I might run it through the filter anyways, just in case, but the filter will still last longer if it doesn't have to filter out as much stuff.

The anthem starts. Through the tree branches, I can see the seal being replaced by Wonder's portrait. He was nice up until the point he tried to kill me.

Then Susan's portrait appears. Some District partner I am. I didn't even try to get revenge for her. Revenge was suicide though and there's no point in getting killed for someone who is already dead. Never expected Agens to pull something like that. The only consolation is that her death was quick. She didn't suffer.

The seal replaces Susan's portrait and the anthem plays again.

I'll get some sleep now, while I can.

* * *

**Day 11**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

I've spent a month's worth of stipend money on sponsoring Jason. He made me promise not to do that, but I crossed my fingers so it doesn't count. It got him the antibiotics he needed.

I had sponsored Susan, too. It wound up going towards the medicine used to treat whatever fever she came down with after being bitten by the mosquito mutts.

She's dead now. She died so quickly, so easily. I miss her. We were not close friends, but we trained together, and respected each other. There was always something unspoken between us once everyone did the math and started figuring out who would volunteer when. Her and Jason were always likely to go into the arena together and she knew that between the two of them, I'd want him to be the one coming home. It was never spoken aloud but it was known. But that does not mean I wanted her to die. Not like this, certainly.

Well, there are only five tributes between Jason and victory. He might just make it. The knife and sword cuts are concerning, but I survived with worse.

The arena this year is horrible. It alternates between dense forest broken up by marshy patches and a slow moving bayou and its sandy banks. The bayou waters are brackish and silty. If there is anything edible hidden in the waters, I can't tell, and neither can Jason apparently, since he hasn't tried to do any fishing so far. He needs to try because sponsors like seeing survival skills when a tribute is alone.

He has enough food for another two days, maybe. He might be counting on the feast for food. I don't know if the feast will be just food, or a special feast with packs. The boy from District 6 and the girl from District 9 have both gone without food for over a day. Citrine found out her pack doesn't have enough food; Wonder packed it poorly. Both from District 2 have split the few remaining supplies in the Cornucopia and have gone separate ways under a truce, but each only have enough food for another couple of days with rationing. Jason will need food as well.

Food feast, no special supplies.

Something rings. The sound startles me out of my chair and I recover enough to not fall to the floor. It's just the phone.

I go over to the kitchen. Kelp sits on the table, paws curled under his body. He looks up at my approach and meows.

I pick up the phone and give Kelp a scratch on the head. "Hi."

"Hey, Lynn." It's Luke, he sounds tired. "Wanted to check on how you were doing."

"I'm okay."

It's a lie and we both know it. I could be worse, though. Susan being dead hasn't fully processed yet. It just happened too fast. Someone from District 2 pulling a stunt like that doesn't happen often. They have their dumb honor codes a lot of them follow, like it somehow makes them better. It must be part of the Peacekeeper patriotism stuff.

"Alright. Well, Jason's vitals are all stable. His kill count is at four now, so a few more sponsorships came in. And he got a few more for killing another career. He's good for funds. Your interview really helped." He's interrupted by a couple of voices in the background. I can't make out who any of them belong to. "Well, got to go. Cassie sends her regards. You try to get some sleep, too. Okay?"

"Tell Cassie 'hi' for me. And I'll try to get some sleep. Bye."

Luke hangs up. I pick up Kelp and he clambers up to sit on my shoulder. He's gotten a bit big for doing that and it's a balancing act for the both of us to keep him up there while I go back to the sitting room. I settle back into my arm chair.

Kelp jumps from my shoulder into my lap. He kneads my legs before walking in a circle a few times until he finally lies down. I give him a scratch behind the ears. He purrs.

I lower the volume on the TV as far as it will go, make sure I'm set to the District 4 focus feed, and close my eyes. As long as Jason is asleep, I can manage to sleep as well.

* * *

**Jason Argos**  
**District 4, Male Tribute**

I don't wanna get down from my tree. It's wet down there. Never thought I'd dislike being around water. It is as much the fact that I hate mornings that has put me in a foul mood. That, and the cuts to my arm and leg. And the lack of water. And the bug bites. 

I should stop complaining and get moving, or else the Gamemakers will make me move.

One last check over my equipment. All wounds re-wrapped, leaving only one roll of gauze left. Knife at my hip, spear still wedged between the fork and the knot. Minus one packet of nuts and dried fruit for breakfast. One half full canteen.

To stretch the food supplies in the event the feast winds up being further than I think it will be, I could try spear fishing or frogging. There hasn't been anything in the water stirred up by my passage. I'd expect frogs on the banks or in the reeds, even little ones, but there's been nothing. I saw a squirrel. Maybe I could spear one of those to eat. But I'd need a fire to cook it. Can't eat squirrel raw, it causes muscle spasms or something like that. Or is that rabbit? I should have gone over a few of the hunting skills a second time.

Down one branch. My leg does not like that. I grab my spear and my pack.

Down the next and I set my spear in the nook again for the moment.

I hop down into the water with a splash. Maybe that will stir up something edible.

Nope.

No such luck.

Time to get a move on.

Wait, really?

I never say stuff like that. Apparently my internal monologue starts to sound like Captain Nautica when I'm really out of it. Sleep deprivation and mild dehydration does that to a person. At least none of this has been verbalized.

Okay, focus. I take another drink from my canteen. I'll try the condensation trick soon. I grab my spear and lean on it to alleviate the pressure on my aching leg.

Plan for the day. Continue heading north. Get water as soon as I can. Hopefully I'll run into the boy from District 6 and can kill him quick. Kill count will be at five then. Might get in some more sponsors with that. Some will make it provisional so their money only becomes available under certain conditions, normally making it to a certain bracket or reaching a kill count.

Using the trees as anchors, I make my way downstream. Most of the ground to the sides of the bayou in this part is marsh and more difficult to walk through. And it's full of snakes. I hate snakes more than Lynn hates bugs and that's saying something. She squishes bugs. I scream when I see a snake.

Is that sand up ahead? I hope so. That means I can get into to the bank and out of the water.

I continue to trudge through the bayou. Getting closer, I see that there is a stretch of sandy bank up ahead. The only flaw is the alligator basking in the morning sun. Welp, that sucks.

Or not. This actually might solve my food problem. I've had gator down in Gulf Port. Tastes like chicken, if you don't know what chicken tastes like, or does if you fry it and serve it with hush-puppies.

The alligator is only around three feet long. A strike to the base of the skull will kill it quickly. I glance around briefly to make sure there aren't any other alligators around. There aren't, so that's good.

Still anchoring myself by hanging onto the trees, I advance on the alligator. The giant lizard faces away from my, mouth open. If it's basking, that means it is trying to heat up, so it will be slower.

My feet reach the solid bank. The alligator has still not moved. I let go of the tree branch and get a good grip on my spear. I know I can physically do this, but asking for some help never hurt. _Ares guide my spear true and I will sacrifice a yearling goat to you upon my return to District 4._

I strike forward. The tip of my spear sinks into the weak spot at the base of the alligator's skull. It thrashes and I hold firm. The damn thing is stronger than I expected. I have to jump over its flailing tail to avoid being swept off my feet. I put all of my weight on the spear, driving the tip deeper and deeper.

All of a sudden, the alligator goes slack and just twitches a little. The spear head must have entered the brain or severed the spinal column. Good.

Bracing my foot on the alligator's back, I pull my spear free. I wait a moment to make sure it really is dead. No more movement. It's dead.

I shove the butt of my spear into the sand. Grabbing the alligator's tail, I drag it further up the bank. Flipping it over to exposes the alligator's softer underside. I haven't seen an alligator specifically butchered before, but I know how to butcher a fish and the general idea should be the same.

Step one, remove the guts. I need to be extra careful to not accidently pierce the intestines, which would taint the meat.

There's a lot of tugging and trying to saw through scales with a knife that doesn't have a serrated edge. I hate serrated edges on most knives since all it does is get caught on things and makes it harder to pull back out of someone once you've stabbed them. I never predicted I'd have to butcher an alligator. Combat knives are not meant for butchering.

It's slimy and it's cold and I'm going to wind up eating this. Gross.

Tastes like chicken. I can at the very least pretend is actually tastes like chicken.

I have no idea what parts of an alligator are edible. I just go with the safe option of the leg muscles and I know what I ate before was tail meat, so I cut some of that out as well. Once I cut the muscle away from the bone, I cut away any tendons and veins I can see and start cutting the meat into thin strips. When I start cooking, I want to do it fast. I need fire to cook and smoke will give away my position.

I go around to the alligator's head and check its mouth. With the handle of my knife, I tap a few of the larger teeth to see if any are loose. A couple are. I yank them out. I have some twine with me and it is a simple manner to wrap a couple of the teeth to make a necklace.

As far as survival goes, the action is useless directly. But sponsors like arrogant things like taking trophies. I don't like pandering to sponsors but I need to. There are things I need that I cannot get in the arena. Things like gauze and antibiotics and water filters. With no Cornucopia to draw on, only sponsors can get me those things.

Around the bank, most of the wood is wet. I shoulder my pack and get my spear before going to check for firewood deeper in the woods.

Further from the banks, it's a bit drier but most fallen wood has already started to rot with how humid it is. I have to wonder how close this arena is to Gulf Port. The temperature and humidity and plants all remind me of what I saw along the gulf coast last summer.

There are broken branches caught up in some trees and bushes, raised off the ground. Most are relatively dry with only a few patches of damp closest to the ground or a bit of green left to them. They'll be smoke but there's only so much I can do about that. I just need to be quick.

I gather up an armful of the driest branches and return to the bank. Laying my pack and spear back down, I dig a small fire pit. I tear up a few bits of old gauze to use as tinder and form a pyramid of small branches around it.

There are three matches left in the sealed jar I keep in my pack. A few were used back at the Cornucopia and hopefully, this will be the last time I need to use one.

I fish a match out of the jar and light it. Holding the small flame to the gauze, the cotton catches easily. The fire consumes the gauze quickly and I feed it a few twigs until it starts to lick up towards the pyramid of branches. I crack a couple of the larger sticks in half and shove them into the fire as well. Smoke begins up curl up into the air.

Resealing the jar, I return it to my pack and get out the now empty plastic bag that used to hold the nuts and dried fruit. I drape a few of the strips of alligator meat over a stick and hold it over the small fire. The thin, fat-less strips cook quickly. The cooked strips of meat go into the plastic bag. The heat will keep cooking some of them and if a bit of the salt rubs off onto them, I won't complain.

Some of the meat chars and more smoke billows around me. I grab what I can, then pause. 

I don't have to go hunting for someone. The fire can draw another tribute to me.

Vantage point. I need a vantage point. Big tree with enough leaves to disguise me but not too much to obscure my vision. Still has to be close by.

Over there. There a particularly large oak tree fifteen feet back from the bank. I throw my pack up into the branches and haul myself up after it. I'm too excited to pay attention to the pain in my limbs from the sudden burst of movement. I settle my pack more securely and stow my spear up there as well. My knife is still at my hip and I won't be on the ground for long.

I jump back down to the ground and start piling leafy branches on top of my fire. I extend the fire more towards the water. Burning down the forest is not my goal. I want the smoke and I want the fire to be large enough that I won't have to add more branches to it all that often. Along with the branches, I drag the body of the alligator onto the fire. It does not burn very well, which means a lot of smoke, and the burning scales smell just like burning hair.

Once the fire has been built up to my satisfaction, I look around to make sure a couple cameras catch me, and say aloud, "Come and find me."

My challenge issued, I return to my tree. My limbs aches but I am content with my work. Anyone really close by would have come to investigate when the smoke first started to rise above the treetops. I can rest for now.

Wedging myself in a fork of the tree, I make sure to sink into the shadows as best I can. The mud below does not match the bark of the tree so I have no real source of camouflage. Anyone approaching would have to be looking up to spot me and most people just don't do that.

I pull out a couple strips of alligator meat and gnaw on them. It does not taste like chicken.

With my challenge issued, hopes rest on someone investigating, or the Gamemakers driving another tribute over here. I'm ready to fight but I'm not going anywhere just yet. Someone will have to come for me.

* * *

Why are hush-puppies called that? They're just balls of fried cornmeal. Delicious, delicious deep fried balls of goodness. I really want a hush-puppy right now.

The light dims around me. Sunset approaches and not long after there will be the anthem and portraits of the fallen.

Four times now, I have fed the fire. I boiled some water as well and have a full canteen. Plus plenty of overcooked alligator meat.

No one has come. Perhaps it is too obvious of a trap. There are five other tribute left in the arena with me. Three are careers and two are outliers. The outliers may fear confrontation, so will not approach the smoke. The absence of any of the careers surprises me more. Surely they would want to track down the easy kill of someone foolish enough to give away their position with a fire. I know I would.

Maybe they know it's me or they think it is a fire started by the Gamemakers.

Movement catches my attention. I ready my spear. Should never be too hasty. I never know how my fortunes will turn.

The movement is low to the ground. And getting closer to my tree. And belongs to something far too large to be a fellow tribute.

There is a mutt coming towards my tree. My fortunes have turned to the worst.

"Well, you did find me." I comment in an admittedly desperate attempt to be amusing enough to be kept alive for sheer entertainment value.

The fire light illuminates sleek fur and rippling muscles. The outline of the mutt is something between a big cat and an alligator. Low body profile, long limbed, with a long muzzle. It paces around the base of the tree.

I have to survive until the anthem. I've seen this done before in a few other Games. The Capitol audience has grown bored, but if I can survive until the anthem, the mutt will be called off.

Bring it.

The mutt rears up on its hind legs and roars up at me. I strike down with my spear, aiming for its eye. The mutt dodges and roars again. Its jaws snap shut. A set of massive claws extends from its paws and dig into the bark of the tree. The mutt begins up climb toward me.

It weighs more than I do. I can get higher than it can, I know it. I begin to climb.

One and two and three and four branches up. I turn back and strike down again at the mutt. The head of the spear carves a long gash along its snout. The mutt roars and swipes at my spear. It slides back down the trunk of the tree, not as secure with only three sets of claws digging into the bark.

That's it. I can get it to fall.

Up again.

I climb even higher and start to move away from the trunk, shimmying along one of the branches. There is a branch above me that I grab to secure myself as I rise to a crouch. I keep my spear leveled between me and the mutt.

The branches creak below it as the mutt begins to move away from the trunk as well.

It places a paw on my branch. I stab it. The mutt roars and shakes it paw and nearly rips the spear out of my grasp. The mutt lunges and I stab again. I score another gash on its snout.

The branch I'm on holds my weight easily. I know I can climb higher.

I pull myself up again. In some part of the back of my mind, I'm reminded of the fact I'm afraid of heights. Apparently not that afraid anymore. Or just more frightened by the mutt trying to eat me.

My left leg decides to buckle for a split second and slip out from below me. Warm blood begins to soak my pant leg again. I catch myself, bent double over my newest branch.

A new pain startles me. My left foot. The mutt growls and I can feel the reverberation through my bones. It's gotten hold of my foot.

There is a pulling sensation. I scream and cling to the branch for dear life.

What do I do? There has to be a way out of this.

I lean forward and look upside-down at the mutt. Clutching my spear in just my left hand while hanging on with the right, I clumsily try to stab at the mutt without hitting myself.

All I do is score another gash on its snout. The mutt growls and shakes its head. Another scream escapes me and the movement tears me from my branch.

I fall down to the branch with the mutt. The air whooshes out of me and my chest burns as I try to take a breath. Cracked rib is all I can guess. Being closer to the mutt, I have a better angle of attack. I grip my spear in both hands. My foot makes a crunching noise in the mutt's jaws. My vision goes white with pain.

Adrenaline drags me back to consciousness. As the crunching noise and feeling continues, I drive my spear into the mutt's side. It bellows and releases the hold on my foot.

I fall again to another branch below. I release my spear and focus on not falling anymore. I wrap my arms tight around the branch. Breathe in. Breathe out. Chest hurts. Foot hurts so much it doesn't hurt.

Can't run. Probably can't even walk.

I have to stop the bleeding. Tourniquet. I pull off my belt and wrap it around my left calf. Gritting my teeth, I tighten it as much as I can before looking. Most of the ruins of my foot are contained by my equally chewed up boot, so the sight is not as bad as I expected. I'm going to bleed out unless I get some sort of sponsor gift.

There's nothing to lose right now. I tie the belt off as best as I can and get my knees below me. The mutt is only two feet above me, haphazardly clinging to the trunk of the tree as it bleeds everywhere. Past all the pain, I force myself to straighten up and draw my knife.

I grab hold of the mutt's neck and stab it in the eye.

The mutt releases its grip on the tree. It falls.

I do not look. I turn so my legs face the trunk of the tree and I prop them up, so my bleeding semi-stump is raised above my head. My breathing is shallow and each short breath sends a new jolt of agony through my ribcage.

The mutt thrashes below me. It roars begin to lose their strength.

"Alright, mutt, one of us is going to bleed out first."

All that's left to do is stare into the steadily darkening sky.

I have no weapons left. My pack is a few branches below me and the only way I'm getting further down is falling. A parachute is my only chance.

I sit up a bit and tug on my belt. Grabbing the loose end, I lean back again to tighten it. The cut on my thigh still oozes blood. Moving the tourniquet further down would cut off too much blood flow. My leg would just die and that amount of gangrene would really be the end.

Assuming I live that long.

I move the tourniquet further down my leg, settling it just below the cut, and retighten it. If I lose the leg, I lose the leg. But I might not bleed out.

The sounds below cease.

"I win the not bleeding out first contest." I say out loud. I don't know if the microphones pick it up, though. The words are quiet to my ears.

The adrenaline begins to fade away. The singing in my ears is replaced by pain.

The anthem begins. I never thought I would be happy to hear the anthem of Panem. The seal illuminates the sky. No portrait appears after. I'm not dead yet. The anthem plays again and the sky turns dark once more.

Well, Susan, I'm not joining you in Elysium just yet.

For now, I just need to get some rest. No sleeping. I just have to focus on keeping as much blood in my body as I can.

I'll figure out what to do in the morning when I can see again. I haven't died yet. I'll be okay.

Xanthos and I are going to match. We can have cane fights in the square of the Victors' Village.

* * *

**Day 12**

**Emily Delmare**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 58th Hunger Games, Mentor of Jason Argos**

My hand smarts from punching the desk. I root myself with the pain. It's a juvenile technique to tie myself to reality; the behavior I'd expect from Lynn, or even Luke. Haven't had to do this in years.

I've had to mute the vitals alert alarms on my headset. Everything electronic scream only drills in the fact Jason is dying. His lips and nails have turned blue and his skin is pallid. He stares glassy eye up at the sky just as he has been for the whole night. Only his vitals feed tells me he is actually conscious and not sleeping with his eyes open or something. He just lingers in some sort of limbo.

He is moved down two branches since the mutt attack but each time he has to loosen his grip on the tourniquet and loses more precious blood.

I care about every Polis kid that volunteers, mine or not. But I do care more about mine. And Jason is a ball of sunshine. Even bleeding to death stuck in a tree, afraid of heights as I know he is, he mutters to himself sometimes that he'll make it to the ground in another hour. Two more branches to go. Anyone who doesn't know him would guess he had given up hours ago, but he will keep on thinking forward until he flat lines.

There is another layer of pain watching him die. Because Lynn is back home staring at her TV in her house in the Victors' Village. The two grew up together, more like siblings than cousins. Luke sent Xanthos to go stay with her, to make sure she doesn't do anything rash.

Jason had the skills and sunshine optimism and volunteered with the disadvantage of Lynn's own Victory. He always said he'd pull a "Candela" as he put it, being back to back Victors with Lynn.

There's a soft beep not from my headset. Beside me, Luke flicks an alarm off on his tablet. He tabs through a few screens.

"It's been twelve hours, why are we still on lockout?" Luke asks.

All I can do in reply is shrug and stare at the greyed out sponsorship total in the corner of my console screen. At the start of the mutt attack, the Gamemakers put of lock on sending Jason any sponsorship gifts. It's standard procedure. Depending on audience rating, the lock will be lifted in anywhere from half-an-hour to twelve hours. Ratings were good, but the drama of his injuries and makeshift tourniquet kept a lock in place. At this point, the lock should have been lifted regardless.

The District 4 focus feed switches to a different angle. It shows the smoldering embers of Jason's fire in the bottom part of the screen, angling up so he appears in the upper corner. The distance of fifteen feet seems impossibly vast at the strange view.

"They want him to fucking cauterize it." I blurt. The answer seems so damn obvious in hindsight. "They want him to try finish climbing down and cauterize the wound in the fire. Problem is, he can't walk."

Luke leans back in his chair. "How long until that fire burns out?"

The Gamemakers might lift the lockout when the fire burns out and there is no longer an option for him to cauterize the wound himself. There's a chemical cauterizer already pulled up on my screen for when the lock lifts.

I stare at the low fire. It's just embers as this point. A bright, cherry red at the heart. The pit was deep, built up to last a while. Jason did too good of a job.

"Maybe twenty, thirty minutes." I guess.

"He doesn't have that long."

I look at Jason's vitals again. His heartrate has become dangerously high and his blood pressure is all over the place as his heart struggles to pump too little blood through his body. His blood oxygen levels are low despite the rapid, shallow breaths he takes in an effort to get more oxygen into his body.

Luke is right. Jason has five minutes left, maybe. The rate he's losing blood has only slowed due to how much blood he has lost.

Why won't they let us send him the blood loss meds? Just one bottle of the meds and he might just recover enough to climb down and do what they want him to. He would stand a chance. They would get to see him play a different game. See the cautious side of him that takes more after Lynn, who appealed so well to the audience.

Who the fuck and I kidding? Even with meds, he'd be too far gone. An hour ago he stood a slim chance. But the lockout still being active means the Gamemakers have made their decision.

They already have Lynn and don't need her cousin, too.

"Probably not." I take a breath. "Shit."

"Shit." Luke agrees.

* * *

**Capitol Records**

The 88th Hunger Games

Tribute ID: D4M

Day: 12

Cause of Death: Hypovolemic Shock

Place: 6

Performance: Satisfactory

Additional Notes: Volunteered. Increase in Polis Program funding approved. Additional Mentor Liaison assigned.


End file.
